


All I Want For Christmas Is the Rain Down In Africa

by HagSpice



Category: South Park
Genre: Butt Slapping, Butts, Cake, Christmas Cake, Dialogue Heavy, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slice of Life, Tweek is a silly drunk, holiday parties, so much butt touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HagSpice/pseuds/HagSpice
Summary: It's time for the former kids of South Park to meet for their annual holiday party, and Tweek is dying to impress everyone with his baking skills. Craig also shows off his skills, his clumsy skills.Holiday fluff for the Secret Santa exchange from the SP Creek server
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44
Collections: sp creek server secret santa 2020





	All I Want For Christmas Is the Rain Down In Africa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelotusflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelotusflower/gifts).



> This little slice of domestic life is for the talented thelotusflower!
> 
> I intended to include at least a little smut in here (I mean, come on, there was frosting just waiting to be licked off someone's fingers!) but I managed to cockblock this fictional couple like three times. Whoops.
> 
> I'm so sorry for making you wait all day for your gift, I am a giant sack of crap. But I hope you enjoy it, Merry X-mas!

Tweek dragged a silicone spatula through whipped frosting, cautiously pressing it to create a soft ridge. When the shape was satisfactory, he picked up a long and delicate strip of white chocolate. Immersed in his routine, Tweek continued until the cake roll was covered with soft ridges of whipped forsting and paper thin shavings of chocolate. There, done. The most difficult part at least. The cake would settle while he showered, then top it with a scant dusting of cocoa powder and a few marzipan mushrooms for garnish. Tweek took a picture with his phone, just as he had during every other stage of this ordeal. After several hours of grumbling and cursing himself, he’d created a rather stunning dessert.

A buche de Noel was probably overkill for a bunch of twenty five year olds having a party at a bar, but Tweek wanted to try something _special_. Choosing something so tedious was risky, and while he should have made something he’d done before, Tweek wanted to show off a little. His desire to be the center of attention for a few minutes only popped up twice a year at most, and dammit, the desire was strong this holiday season.

A couple weeks ago, Tweek laid in bed thinking on what to make for the annual holiday party with their South Park friends. Cookies had been done a million times and with Thanksgiving only a month gone, pies weren’t exciting, no matter how chocolate or peanut butter filled they were; so cake it was. After an hour of searching for a show stopping dessert, Tweek knew he’d found the one when he clicked on the link for a traditional Christmas yule log cake recipe from Saveur. The next three hours were spent trawling through websites to track recipe consistencies, and Craig pushing his foot against Tweek’s butt while grumbling about the glow from his phone screen. By the time morning was only two hours away, Tweek had a grocery list and a game plan. 

The true challenge of a yule log was to make the decorations look… not terrible. What seemed like a low bar to clear really wasn’t since Tweek’s research proved that even competent bakers could make this thing look like something a first grader made in art class. Or a literal piece of crap. The first step to ensure the buche de Noel wasn’t mistaken for Mr. Hankey was making a white mallow buttercream topping instead of using chocolate frosting. Next came wispy shavings of white chocolate and the teeniest sprinkle of cacao. Then the cake would look like the trunk of a birch or aspen, which Tweek deemed the safest choice of deciduous tree for a cake. The final touch was a handful of little mushrooms made of marzipan, purchased from a fancy European bakery in the hipster district of downtown Fort Collins. If that wasn’t a praise-worthy cake, then Tweek might as well lay down and die.

This reunion with their friends became a tradition during about six years ago when many kids were on winter break from college, and those who worked full time had some time off work. While some kids swore they’d leave South Park behind them, parents and childhood homes remained homebase for most young adults, especially on major holidays. Since getting their own apartment almost three years ago, Craig and Tweek relished the luxury of choosing how much time they spent in South Park. For Christmas, the ideal schedule was rolling up to the Tweak’s house late on the twenty third and leaving by noon on the twenty fifth to take advantage of Richard and Marie’s ‘early to bed and early to rise’ lifestyle. The boys spent the next two or three days at the Tucker’s, their enjoyment there dependent on whether or not it was an election year or some political upset happened. Though liberal and accepting with social issues, Thomas and Laura’s politics hadn’t quite caught up to their children’s. 

With the buche de Noel finished for the moment, Tweek needed to get his butt in the shower so they could get to the party; the whole reason for the stupid cake. As Tweek made his way through the kitchen and living room, he heard Craig’s heavy steps upstairs and hoped he was finished getting ready.

At the top of the stairs, Tweek called out a warning to Craig.

“Craig! Are you done in the bathroom? I need to get cleaned up.”

Just as Tweek stepped onto the second floor landing, his boyfriend appeared in the doorway of his childhood bedroom, wearing a towel around his hips.

“Yep, it’s all yours, babe. Just trying to pick what to wear.”

Stepping into the bedroom, Craig gestured to the bed, where he had emptied their suitcase and spread out the clothes he packed for himself. All his jeans, shirts and tees folded and lined up in neat rows; so very like him and goddam adorable. Craig stared down at his clothes with his brow pinched and lips pursed, which was his “I’m making a very important decision” face. While Craig deliberated, Tweek watched little beads of water drip from the ends of Craig’s hair, sprinkling his tan skin. His eyes followed a drop as it landed in the dip of Craig’s collarbone and ran down his chest, dissipating before it reached his navel.

Hmm. Maybe before a shower, Tweek could pretend to be one of those droplets, he could trail his fingertips or tongue down Craig’s body. And while uninterested in what Craig should wear, Tweek certainly thought he should _not_ be wearing that towel any longer. Creeping closer, Tweek reached out, ready to grasp Craig’s hips. But as Tweek’s fingers skimmed the towel, Craig’s cell chirped. Scooping up his phone, Craig plopped onto the bed as he read the new message. Tweek huffed. Chances were high it was Cockblock Clyde.

“Kenny says he and Stan are heading to Skeeter’s in about ten minutes. They’re asking when we’ll be there.”

Stan and Kenny were leaving that soon? Damn, they really didn’t have time to get nasty before the party. It would be nice to take advantage of the empty house while his parents were at the coffee shop, but Tweek still needed to shower _and_ pack up the cake. He’d just have to put the moves on Craig later. Disappointing for now, promising for later.

“Tell him we’ll be like twenty minutes behind them.”

“‘Kay, will do.”

To distract himself from the pretty and practically naked man on his bed, Tweek perused the clothes Craig spread out on the bed. Stupid bed, full of stupid sexy memories of their teenage selves. His parents upgraded him to this queen size bed when he was sixteen. Apparently parents don’t care about teenage couple sleepovers when their kids won’t get pregnant. Tweek picked up a light grey button up and dropped it on top of a pair of dark indigo jeans. The patch pockets on the breast of the shirt reminded him of the khaki utility shirts that explorers always wear in movies; like Craig was a hot, nerdy anthropologist. The jeans were slimcut and showed off his cute little butt.

“Here, wear this. It’ll look more casual if you roll up the sleeves.

“That’s perfect, babe,” Craig nodded in approval, grabbed the jeans and started slipping them over his legs. After standing to zip them up, he leaned down and kissed Tweek’s cheek. “Does that mean _I_ get to dress _you_?”

Scoffing, Tweek took a step back and gave Craig’s leer a dubious look. Craig, the jerkface, casually picked up his shirt and began to button it.

“No way, man! You’re not allowed to pick my outfits, you had that privilege revoked.”

“The hell? That’s not fair!”

“Craig, do I need to remind you of your offenses?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Craig folded his arms across his chest. So they were playing this game, were they? Tweek could handle that, he had plenty of ammo.

“The last time, you left me in my underwear, then went through the gift wrapping supplies to get a bow, which you stuck over my dick.”

“It’s called _minimalism_ , honey.”

“Another time, you got out my gold lamé boots and hot pants from the Rocky Horror production and slapped a bumper sticker that we made for Pride on my chest.”

Craig snorted, looking so very pleased with himself.

“‘My guinea pig has two daddies’ damn, I’m clever.”

Tweek had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing at that remark. That was a pretty good bumper sticker. They had the design made into t-shirts, too. But he had one more atrocity to bring his point home with a flourish.

“Oh, and my _favorite_ ,” Tweek rolled his eyes, “was when you borrowed from my theater costumes, exercise clothing, and our halloween costumes.”

“You say that like it’s a problem.”

Narrowing his eyes, Tweek gritted out, “Furry boots, my galaxy short-shorts, a beaded scarf tied around my torso like some Xanadu nightmare, and a unicorn horn headband. I looked like I was at Burning Man!” 

He ended his rant by throwing his hands up in the air.

“Yep”

Simply nodding, Craig remained impassive.

“We were going to visit your grandma, Craig!”

“Dude, grandma _loves_ you,” He shuffled over to Tweek, squeezing his hips, “She would’ve thought it was cute and taken a picture.”

Pulling Tweek close, Craig kissed his cheek before dipping down to blow a raspberry into the crook of Tweek’s neck. 

“Ack quit it!” Tweek laughed as he swatted at Craig. 

Tweek made a break for it, trotting down the hall to the bathroom, while stripping off his dirty clothes as he went.

“You want me to put the cake in the travel carrier while you get ready?”

“Not yet. Need to put a couple decorations on it right before we leave.”

Smacking his palm against his face, Craig chuckled. Running on “Tweek Time” used to get him furiously riled up, but for the sake of his blood pressure, he learned that Tweek’s time management skills were a lost cause, and to just go with it. 

“‘Kay. Take a quick one, we’re already running behind a bit.”

An arm popped through the doorway, giving Craig a dismissive wave.

“I know, I know! I’ll turn on some music and make sure to get out by the end of two songs.”

“As long as they’re not club mixes or some shit. Those things are all eleven minutes long.”

Naked as the day he was born, Tweek ran out of the bathroom. Charging at his boyfriend, he put his hands on the small of Craig’s back and pushed him down the hall. 

“You’re killing me with all this sass. Go away. Let me shower!”

“What can I say? I’m a deadly _assassin_.”

Tweek groaned on his way back to the bathroom. 

“ _Ughhhh_ gross. I’m ashamed to know you right now.”

  
  


As he made his way down the stairs, Craig’s stomach growled. Ah yes, a side effect of Tweek Time. Tweek’s trouble with adhering to a schedule often left mealtimes askew. They were having a potluck of sorts at their party, lots of desserts and heavy hors d'oeuvres; more than enough food to make a full meal. He was ready to inhale some spinach artichoke dip and cheese cubes, but he needed a little something to keep the hangry at bay.

Looking around the kitchen, Craig went over his options. Crackers and chips were effective, but a couple would lead to a handful, which would become half the bag. So he could overeat now and miss out on the free party food, which as a poor grad student was a major source of sustenance. Or pass out from low blood sugar. Neat.

Sighing, Craig went to the Tweak’s fridge. Since Tweek left for college, his parents didn’t cook very much, often choosing to cruise the Whole Foods salad bar while on breaks from the coffee shop. Hoping to find something better than a two year old jar of capers, Craig surveyed the contents. Coconut creamer; interesting. Willing to throw a couple shots of that back, he put that on the short list. Pickles; ew. A variety of condiments and salad dressings. While tasty with a meal, Craig was not about to take a chug of ranch dressing or balsamic vinaigrette. Growing more annoyed, Craig smacked a bag of kale out the way; because no, he had standards, thank you very much. 

Ah, success. Unexpired milk. 

Craig grabbed the half gallon jug and plunked it on the counter next to Tweek's fancy cake. Fucking duh, how did he forget about the cake?

It was beautiful, honestly. There was no mistaking it for anything but a white tree trunk, which Tweek had agonized about ever since he decided he had to make the thing. Craig hadn’t understood what the thin pieces of white chocolate were for, but now, they were obviously strips of bark, flaking and curling against the log. It was simple, minimal in a way that seemed more effective than an abundance of decoration would be. He’d much rather be eating that cake right now, but milk would have to do. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it halfway before drinking it down three big gulps.

Finished, Craig opened the dishwasher to put the cup inside, but found it empty. Without really cooking, the dishwasher wouldn’t fill up very often, would it? While he didn’t go far out of his way to do Tweek’s parents any favors, he felt guilty about leaving a glass in there for who knows how long. Turning to the sink, Craig took the sponge and dish soap from the edge and washed the glass. There. Now he didn’t need to worry about Tweek’s parents finding a moldy cup that smelled mildly of curdled milk five weeks from now.

Craig swiped the dish towel that hung from the handle of the over and started to dry the cup. Staring at the towel, he thought of younger Tweek bustling around the kitchen like a whirling dervish. Tweek always tried to make too many things at once, several pots on the stove and produce on the cutting board needing chopped. Always with a small towel slung over his shoulder so he could quickly wipe his hands.

_Splat_

The glass wasn’t in his hand anymore.

But it was embedded in the middle of the cake Tweek spent hours on. 

He got lost in member berries like a dumbass and let the damn thing slip right out of his hands. What the hell was he supposed to do? Was it like some stab wounds where removing the object made things worse? Could he pick up the glass and smush the undamaged ends together? Poking at the cup, Craig’s pulse started to pick up. Whatever was under it was totally smooshed, and chunks of cake and cream were splattered on the counter. He willed himself to move, but couldn’t do anything besides stare down at the disaster he created.

“Looks pretty good, don’t you think?”

Tweek barreled into the room, sweeping past Craig to gather his travel case for the case. 

Craig made a weird, involuntary noise in his throat in response.

Blissfully unaware of the destruction, Tweek hummed to himself while gathering his candy mushrooms and assembling the carrying case, which gave Craig time to think of the good plea for his life, or at least start running for the door. 

“I just gotta put these little edible mushrooms on it, and then we can go, okay?”

Craig jumped at the hand on his arm before gathering his wits. He whirled around, gathering Tweek in his arms and diving in for a heated kiss. If he could distract Tweek with some unexpected sexy sex, maybe he’d be so flustered he’d forget about the cake until after they were on the way to the party.

“Let’s make out instead.”

“Craig!” Laughing, Tweek brushed Craig’s hands aside. “What are you doing, you goof. You wanted me to hurry, but now you’re trying to seduce me?”

Craig pressed into Tweek, steering him further from the counter. It was working, and if he could get to the living room couch...

Swaying on his feet, Craig opened his eyes as Tweek juked him and broke out of the embrace. Oh yeah, Tweek was a boxer, he knew about feinting and stuff. 

“Don’t look!”

Craig tried to catch him, but it was too late. 

Tweek stared down at the buche de Noel, his mouth agape and eyes wide.

The silence was what freaked out Craig the most. Tweek reacted to everything, with a yelp, a screech, flailing arms, something. Craig tried to keep his shit together, if he panicked, then Tweek would panic too. He took a careful step toward his boyfriend, moving like approaching a a rabbit. He was almost within reach when Tweek’s shoulders started to shake.

Craig debated between giving him space and trying to provide comfort, but when sunk to the floor, Craig rushed forward and landed next to him. Muffled noises came from behind Tweek’s hands and his shoulders started shaking.

“I’m so sorry, honey! I was getting milk, and I dropped a thing- but I was thinking about you! I ruined it, it was beautiful and I ruined it.”

Tweek's shoulders shook harder and he finally uncovered his face. And started cackling. Tweek laughed and laughed while Craig. waited on pins and needles, feeling like he missed something very important.

"This might be a dumb question, but um are you okay? You're taking this pretty well."

“It’s okay _ngh_ Craig. I know it was an accident. This is the kind of thing where you either laugh or cry, and I am _not_ showing up to the party with a snotty nose and puffy eyes. ”

“It looked really good, babe. Impressive. You did a spectacular job.”

Tweek sighed, deep and with his whole body.

“Well, it was a clean glass and not something gross. And it’s still cake. We can eat it, even if it’s deformed.”

Cupping Tweek’s cheek, Craig leaned in and kissed his forehead. 

“It won’t magically fix the cake, but why don’t you drink as much as you want tonight. I’ll stay sober and drive us home. And in the morning, you can complain as much as you want when you get a terrible hangover tomorrow.”

Tweek smiled, it was small, but it reached his eyes and Craig knew it was genuine.

“Deal.”

Craig kissed his forehead again and they both stood up and stared at the cake. Carefully, Tweek peeled the frosting covered glass away, getting a good look at the crater underneath.

Craig snickered.

“It made a really cool splat noise babe, I wish you’d heard it.”

Tweek looped his arms around Craig’s waist and leaning his temple on his shoulder.

“Was it like that Chinpokomon ice cream you had at Cow Days, that melted off the stick? The one with the gumball eyes?”

Craig sighed, closing his eyes.

“Yeah, it was.”

  
  


It was tradition, during the week of Christmas, the gang would meet at Skeeter’s Wine Bar for a class reunion slash holiday party. They commandeered half the bar, roped off in a private section complete with desserts and snacks. The current state of Skeeter’s was a far cry from the dive their dad’s would hole up in when they were kids. The interior looked like a photo straight from the Rejuvenation catalog. Polished concrete floors, shiny walnut bar and table tops with dark iron legs and exposed ductwork. 

After high school, Red Tucker decided to help her dad run the bar and keep the business in the family. She dove headfirst into business classes at the community college, researched small business marketing, and with the help of her boyfriend Kevin Stoley, she built a website. It was a bar that could exist in any city in Colorado, barring the occasional stunt by Randy Marsh or a visit from that weird towel that offered ten year olds weed.

Craig watched as Tweek climbed on top of a table and tried to curl up. Clyde reached out and scratched Tweek behind his ear.

“Aw what a good kitty!”

Tweek giggled and sunk his fingers into the arm of Clyde’s sweater, kneading the fabric.

“Purr, purr, _ngh_ purr. I’m good kitty.”

Across from Craig, Jimmy laughed as he nudged him with one of his crutches.

“And on that note, we’ll be leaving. Time to get this gremlin to bed.”

Pushing his seat away from the table, Craig stood and stretched his back, grimacing as a few vertebrae popped. It was almost one am and by now the group was in various states of sobriety, ranging from Craig, who’d spread three beers out over the course of the evening, and well, whatever Tweek and Clyde were over there. Tweek hadn’t had a drink in a little while, but he heartily took advantage of Craig’s offer to be designated driver, pounding back vodka sodas and a few shots that the group took together.

“Craig! I missed you, baby!”

Tweek perked his head up from the table, making grabby hands.

“Time to go, honey. Let’s get your cake tote, so we can go back to your parents’ house and pass the fuck out.”

Nodding, Tweek yawned and slowly climbed to the floor with Craig’s help.

“‘Kay. We don’t have to walk home, do we? It’s all cold and stuff.”

“Nah, I’m sober, we’re taking the car back home.” 

Craig paused to scoop up the empty cake tote from the food table and tuck it under his arm. Despite the physical deformity, Tweek’s buche de Noel was a hit, which he suspected would happen, given Tweek’s track record with baking. With the ends of the yule log mostly intact, the lovely spiral of the rolled cake was visible and some chocolate bark was still in place, making it not a complete disaster. Maybe only eighty five percent disaster. 

When they arrived, Craig made sure to announce that he fucked up Tweek’s creation, graciously flipping off the jeers and razzing from his friends. He also passed his phone around to off show the pictures that Tweek took so the cake could be properly admired. Tweek accepted the praise with bashful thank you’s and smiles, which soon became red cheeks and an attempt to hide under the table.

Now with a cake box and a Tweek in tow, Craig addressed the group.

“Well, it’s been fun. See you guys later, I guess. Maybe.”

Craig bent his knees and slung an arm around Tweek’s thighs, earning a squeal as Craig hoisted him over his shoulder. Nonplussed, Craig strode to the door. Laughing, Tweek grabbed onto a string of sleigh bells that were hanging on the doorframe, shaking them as loud as possible and for as long as possible, until Craig stepped out into the night.

Outside Skeeter’s, Craig stared at the parking lot, unable to find their car. He was completely sober, and twenty five was way too young to start losing your memory. Hopefully Drunky McDrunkface remembered.

“Hey Tweeeek, do you remember where we parked?”

“Jingle bells, Jingle bells. Jingle _gah_ all the bells! Wait, what? Oh, over there! Jingle jingle jingle.”

Tweek pointed east, down Main Street. Oh yeah. They arrived late, so the lot was full and they had to park down the street. Craig was debating on whether he should make Tweek wait here while he went to retrieve the car, but his train of thought abruptly cut short when a hand slapped at his ass.

“Giddy-up pony!”

“Okay, geez. Calm your tits, dude.”

Together they would go, then.

“My little Craigy, my little Craigy!”

Great now he was singing the My Little Pony theme song with clever new lyrics. Tweek was a happy drunk, and for that, Craig was grateful, but sometimes he wished the vodka filled ball of sunshine had an off switch. It was a good night, no one pissed him off or started stupid shenanigans, but a solid eight hours of sleep were all he wanted at the moment. 

Tweek’s hand patted his butt in a steady rhythm as he continued humming happily to himself.

“Craaaiggg, I wanna fuck you.”

“That sounds nice, babe.”

It sounded really nice actually, but Tweek was trashed and he was exhausted. In the morning however, after Tweek’s parents left for the coffee shop? Hell yes. As long as his ball of sunshine wasn’t puking rainbows when he woke up. Craig reconsidered rewarding Tweek with sexy times when his affectionate ass patting turned into wailing on his ass like a set of bongos. 

“Craig!”

“Yes darling? Light. Of. My life?”

“I.”

_Smack_

“Want.”

_Smack_

“Your.”

_Smack_

“Ass!”

_SMACK_

Craig jolted, almost dropping the cake tote. Their dark gray Prius appeared in the distance and he sighed in relief.

“Cut it out Tweek, that last one hurt!”

“But all I want for Christmas is dat ass!”

Apparently, Tweek was trying to tenderize Craig’s butt, judging by the way he was now squishing it in his palms like dough. 

“Can’t blame you, Tweek. My ass is pretty great.” Finally at their car, Craig gingerly lowered Tweek to the ground and leaned him against the front passenger door. “Alright here we are, honey.”

Tweek gasped. 

“Craig, you want me to have my way with you right here, on Main Street?” He doubled over, cackling and wheezing. “Oh my _ngh_ god! Horny on Main, get it?”

“As romantic as that sounds, let’s wait ‘til morning, yeah?

“But you owe me. For messing up my cake”

“Uh-uh, no way, puppy eyes won’t work on me. Tweek, you’re totally smashed. You’re ‘frat boy singing _Africa_ by Toto’ level of drunk.”

A sparkle glinted in Tweek’s eye and Craig knew he’d fucked up big time. Putting his hand on Tweek’s back, Craig nudged him toward the open car door as his sense of urgency spiked.

“I love that song!”

“Yep, that’s great. Why don’t we get in the car and you can sing it as loud as you want while I drive us home.”

But Tweek was crafty, and like earlier that day, he spun around Craig, dodging the grabbing arms despite his drunkenness. He laughed and sang, seeming to have a wonderful time playing a game of tag with his boyfriend. 

“It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you! That’s one thing a hundred men or more could never do!”

“ _Argh_ come here, you little brat!”

“I bless the rains down in Africa! I bless the rains down in Aaa-”

Agile and surefooted until that moment, Tweek lost his balance during his third pirouette in a row. Finally, Craig could get a hold on him. Lunging forward, he wrapped an arm around Tweek’s back to slow his fall. Craig’s legs were long, but they weren’t _that_ long, so after several moments of struggling to stay on his feet, he started to go down with Tweek. 

Thanks to years of skating and hockey at Stark’s Pond, he knew how to fall “correctly”. Turning his hips, he landed on the side of his thigh and butt, with Tweek safely on top of him. At least he was doing interpretive dance and not kickboxing to accompany his singing; Craig really didn’t want to lose a tooth after going through years of braces and palate expander. He hugged Tweek, restraining the urge to squeeze him in a way that was a bit too aggressive to be considered affectionate.

“You’re lucky I love you, dude. Someday you’re gonna land me in the hospital. Or jail. Probably both.”

They stayed sprawled on the sidewalk for a minute as Craig waited for the adrenaline rush to fade. Tweek had been oddly silent, which was worrisome. Like he was sensing Craig’s distress, Tweek looked up at him with sleepy eyes.

“My butt’s cold. Can we go home now?”

Craig pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, but then stood and pulled Tweek onto his feet as well. Apparently he was tired out after his performance, and he allowed Craig to escort him to the car and buckle him in.

As Craig drove through the dark and quiet streets of South Park, his hands started moving, tapping out a beat on the steering wheel. 

_Ba-bum ba Bum bum Ba-bum Ba_

At a stop sign, he looked over at Tweek to him dozing in his seat. His hand was stretched across the center console, his fingers keeping a featherlight hold on the sleeve of Craig’s coat.

_Ba-bum ba Bum bum Ba-bum Ba_

The lyrics made zero sense, their syllables were awkwardly crammed into the phrases, and not to mention that the music video was cringey and offensive; but damn, that song was catchy. Craig found himself singing quietly, and swore he saw Tweek’s lip twitch in a tiny smile. 

Craig didn’t sing very often, but he would do just about anything for his most favorite butthead in the world.

“I bless the rains down in Africa. I bless the rains down in Africa. Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

“S’not the words, silly.”

Tweek’s eyelids were cracked open, his gaze soft and out of focus.

“Hush, I’m singing for you.”

“M’sorry. Love you Craig, sing me more.”

“Only for you, sunshine.”

The fingers on his sleeve gave a little squeeze before falling slack.


End file.
